


A Perfect Score

by vgersix



Series: There's a Bowling Alley on the Enterprise [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Date Night, Established Relationship, M/M, bowling, lol what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8333512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix/pseuds/vgersix
Summary: Kirk and Spock have a few days of on-ship leave to fill and there's only so much chess even Jim can take until he starts getting antsy. They decide to try a new game -- bowling. "What?" you say. "There's not a bowling alley on the Enterprise..." OH HO HO, that is where you would be wrong, my friend. iT'S CANON. And it's time for bOWLING DATE NIIIIGHTT~~~~





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raven_Knight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Knight/gifts).



> Raven_Knight and I came across an old cross-section of the recreational deck on the _Enterprise 1701-A_ , and realized the bowling alley (which is referenced a couple of times in _TOS_ , but never seen on-screen) actually made it through the refit!!! After we picked ourselves up off the floor from laughing about this, we decided it needed to be in a fic. She's working on her own story involving the bowling alley, which we will also include in a collection for your enjoyment, and this is my contribution. Hope you enjoy!! xD

“Captain."

Jim huffed a sigh, dropping the bowling ball from where it had been poised before him, ready to throw. He turned to look over his shoulder, where his first officer stood not far behind him. “Yes, Spock, what is it?”

“Perhaps you should consider widening your stance. For balance?” 

Jim grinned, still holding the ball from the tips of three fingers at his side. “Thank you, Commander,” he said with a bat of thick eyelashes. “But I’m pretty sure I can handle this.”

Spock’s spine straightened, his hands moving instinctively behind his back, at attention. “Yes, Captain. Please, by all means.” 

Satisfied, Jim returned his attention to the long straightaway before him, and the pearly white pins waiting at the end of the gleaming, hardwood track. It was one of the few wooden pieces on the entire ship, he noted. Something about that, the antiquated quality to the game, appealed to him.

He’d never gone bowling on Earth. Ironically, the game was considered quite archaic and rather out of style there, but had caught on in several extraterrestrial colonies where humans had put down new roots over the generations. They’d taken the game with them, and eventually it had become quite popular in various sectors, including some settlements in the Altair system. 

As it happened, Brenda Margolese, an Altairian woman who had been a lead designer on the _Constellation-_ class ships of the fleet, was a bowling champion. She had played a major role in the game’s inclusion on the recreational decks of the _Enterprise_ and several other ships in the fleet. So here it was. 

Jim had never taken the opportunity to play before now, but with four days rest time ordered for the entire crew, in a sector of space too far removed from anywhere suitable for shore leave, he and Spock had both played more chess games already than he could count — so finally Jim had suggested they try something new. Why not bowling?

He swung his arm back in a long sweeping arc, dropping into a slight crouch as it came back in front of his body and finally released from the tips of his fingers to go flying toward the track in a perfectly straight line. 

_Ah_ , he thought as he watched it sail away and land with a loud thud on the polished wooden path, _that felt like a pretty good throw. Let’s see how it goes._

But by the time the bowling ball reached the halfway point of the track, it had turned to one side, inexorably curving toward the dreaded gutter. And just like that, it flopped off the edge of the wooden track and into the ditch running alongside the track with another dull thud. 

All ten of the glimmering white pins stood tall, as if to mock his efforts.

“Uh,” Jim said, “Well I guess that wasn’t it.”

Spock approached, moving to select a large silver ball from the corral. Jim stepped aside.

“Well,” he said, taking a deep breath that made his chest puff out, and tugging down on the hem of his uniform shirt. “Maybe you’ll have better beginner’s luck than me, Mr. Spock.”

Spock turned to catch his eye, and Jim grinned warmly. “Show those pins who’s boss!”

“Indeed, Captain.”

The Vulcan approached the player’s space with full confidence, inhaling his own steadying breath and dropping into what, if Jim didn’t know better, would have looked like a practiced stance. He braced his feet wide apart, the ball balanced perfectly before his face, as if prepping the shot down his line of sight.

The long, sinuous arm pivoted back suddenly, and Spock’s center of gravity lowered, his knees bending to compensate for the shift in pose. The bright silver ball shot from the end of thin Vulcan fingers and flew at the track like a torpedo set loose toward its target.

Jim gasped at the speed, and thought, _He’s overcompensated for sure. These bowling balls are weighted for human players, and he’s misjudged the lightness of it. He might hit some pins, but the ball will come bouncing off the back wall if it doesn’t crack a hole in it._

But at the end of the track, the ball took a slight curve, sweeping from one end of the pin bay to the other, toppling all ten pins with a deafening crack. 

Jim’s mouth fell open in shock.

Spock stood to his full height, straightened his blue uniform shirt, and turned to Jim. “Was that adequate, Captain?” 

Jim could have sworn there was a self-satisfied smirk hiding somewhere in that perfectly composed face.

Jim’s hands shot out, palms up, in an expression of disbelief. “I thought you said you’d never played this before!” he cried.

Spock appeared confused, furrowing his brow and cocking his head to one side. “I did indeed say that, Captain.”

“Then how the hell did you manage _that_?” Jim pointed one arm emphatically toward the end of the track, where the mechanized resetter was already busy laying out the next rack of pins.

Spock turned to follow Jim’s gaze, where the fresh set of pins now sat, awaiting another round of play. He turned back to look at Jim. 

“It is a simple matter of physics, Captain. I simply calculated the necessary velocity and angle with which to—“

“You know what,” Jim cut in. “Forget it. It’s my turn. Step aside, Commander.”

He reached into the corral, grabbing the same black bowling ball that had betrayed him before. Maybe he’d have better luck with it this time, he wagered. He had a better feel of its weight, knew what to expect from it. He approached the player’s space and, after a pause, widened his stance subtly. He hoped Spock wouldn’t notice. 

The crouch, the swing, the release. Off it went, seemingly as straight as his first toss, though he’d been fooled before. And sure enough, about halfway down the track, the ball veered off to the left again, hitting the gutter at almost exactly the same point as his first play. 

“Dammit!” he cursed, rising back to his full height. “What the hell?”

Spock approached, hands clasped behind his back again, and stopped to stand at Kirk’s shoulder. “Unfortunate, Captain. It would appear you have applied too much spin.”

Jim turned to look at him, a half snarl, half pout on his face. “Spock, did you rig this damn thing just to spite me? Mess around with its programming? It only seems to work for you.”

Spock’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “Rig the game, Captain? Certainly not.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “You sure about that? Maybe you get a certain sick amusement out of watching me get all bent out of shape over this thing.”

“Bent… out of shape?” Spock’s eyes traveled down one side of Jim’s body, and back up the other. “Captain, you appear to be in the same shape and form as usual, if slightly redder in the face.”

“Red in the face, you say?” Jim said in mock fascination. “Really? Well, I can’t imagine why…” 

His hands rose to rest on Spock’s chest, looking up at him with… _that_ expression. Spock could never quite put a name to it, but that look was, as of late, usually followed very closely by some intimate physical interaction between the two of them. 

And this time seemed to be no exception. Jim rose on his toes just enough to press soft pink lips to quickly flushing green ones. Their lips parted slightly before Jim moved in again, pressing his mouth fully against Spock’s in a gentle, open-mouthed kiss. 

The Vulcan’s hands parted behind his back and went to wrap around Jim’s shoulders, pulling him closer in a tender embrace. But just as Spock was about to take the action further, the human pulled away, locking eyes with his XO in an expression of determination.

“I _am_ going to beat you,” he said with full confidence. 

“Captain? Spock quirked an eyebrow, the intimate moment forgotten.

“Bowling is an Earth game, and this Earthman isn’t going to let you stomp him so easily.”

Spock appeared to consider this. “Captain, as you and the good doctor are so fond of pointing out, I am half-Earthman.”

Jim smiled, shaking his head in amusement. “No way.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Spock’s face. “You’re going down, Mister.”

Spock took a breath, squeezing Jim’s shoulders slightly before letting him go. “Captain, I believe the appropriate response is…. ‘bring it on.’” 

 

***

 

They played three games altogether.  

Spock won every single one of them. 

In fact, Spock got a strike… on every single play, save one.

Halfway through the final game, Jim just sort of decided to change the rules. It was fairly obvious that even with the couple of strikes he’d managed to score — he’d jumped up and down, whooping and hollering in victory on the first one — Spock offered a slow clap and a polite pursing of lips in response — as well as a not-quite-sarcastic, “Well done, Captain,” — he was in no danger of toppling Spock from the highest scoring slot.

As Spock lined up his final shot, what would surely be the cherry on top of a winning game — his third consecutive perfect 300 score — Jim leapt onto the Vulcan’s shoulders with a cry like a wild banshee.

“Ca—Captain?!” Spock sputtered, releasing the bowling ball too early so that it spun off wildly down the track. “What are you—” 

They toppled to the floor in a heap, Jim clambering to get on top of Spock and straddling him, pinning him to the floor on his back. 

“Ha ha!” Jim cheered, looking down the track over Spock’s head. Spock bent his neck backwards to look up toward the end of the glimmering runway, and from this upside-down view he could see that his ball had veered to one side, missing three of the pins. 

He looked up again to see Jim grinning above him. “Jim,” he said, “I do not believe tackling one’s opponent is an acceptable move in this game.”

Jim’s expression turned to one of feigned innocence. “Oh?” he said, putting one hand to his cheek as if in contemplation. “Is it not?”

Spock sighed, frowning in resignation. “No, and I believe you are quite aware of that.”

“Hm,” Jim shrugged. “Odd, I could have sworn…”

Spock sat up, cradling the small of Jim’s back in his hands for support. “I will allow it as an honest mistake, Captain. Perhaps you were thinking of a different game.”

Jim smiled, chuckling as if at a familiar joke. “Oh, maybe I was… My mistake, Commander.”

“Indeed. I believe I am now afforded what is called a… spare?”

“Indeed you are,” Jim nodded, scrambling to his feet. He offered a hand to Spock, helping him up from the floor.

“Thank you, Captain,” Spock said, tugging his shirt back into place. 

“Of course, Commander,” Jim replied in the same, politely sportsman-like tone. He extended one arm toward the playing space, inviting Spock to continue.

Spock retrieved the silver bowling ball from the corral again, and stepped into position to make his final play. The setup was not ideal: two pins in adjacent places on one end, another single pin standing lonely on the opposite end of the rack. He would have to apply a precise curve ball in order to upend all three of them.

“Difficult play, Spock?” Jim teased him from behind, as if reading his thoughts. The captain let out a dramatic gasp. “A challenge? Say it ain’t so…”

The Vulcan lowered the bowling ball slightly, turning to give Jim a withering glare. In response, Jim suppressed a giggle, putting both hands over his mouth. 

Spock returned his attention to the track, dropped into position, and let the ball fly. It curved, following his mental calculations in a perfect arc, and hit all three pins in an explosion of sound that echoed off every wall in the room.

Jim provided a slow clap from behind him as he approached the playing area. “Well, well, Mr. Spock,” Jim said, coming to stand next to his victorious first officer. “You appear to be quite the natural at this game. I concede to your prowess.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Should we play again? I think I _might_ be getting better at this.”

Spock winced, a subtle indication that he did not necessarily agree. Jim, taking his unspoken meaning, promptly punched him in the bicep. 

“Fine!” Jim shouted, laughing. “Okay, I'll admit it. I’m pretty awful at this. It’s certainly not doing anything for my ego.”

Spock bowed his head in agreement, and clasped his hands behind his back, stepping closer to Jim. “Very well then. Perhaps a different game is in order?”

Jim sighed, running a hand over his face in thought. “Well, Spock, I’ll be damned if I can think of anything else. We’ve done four rounds of chess today, poker; now this… I’m all out of ideas.” 

Spock stepped even closer into the captain’s personal space, locking eyes with him. “Indeed, Captain. Then, perhaps I could make a suggestion?”

Picking up on the meaningful expression in Spock’s eyes gave Jim pause. “Oh,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

“A different type of game entirely,” Spock said, bumping shoulders with him as he stepped impossibly closer. Jim looked up at him, the dawn of understanding in his eyes.

“Oh?” Jim said, this time a suggestive tone in his voice. “And what type of game would that be?” he said, feigning ignorance. 

“One in which…” Spock reached up stroke Jim’s shoulder through his uniform shirt, toying with the zipper. “…tackling one’s partner… is not outside the realm of acceptable moves.”

Jim’s eyes widened in barely restrained amusement. Spock dragged one finger across the front of Jim’s shirt, pausing to smooth the collar there. He continued on, “One with which you are historically more experienced than I, and quite skilled.” He paused to look Jim up and down, head to toe, as he had several hours before. “It may assist in restoring your ego. In addition to passing the time.”

Jim suppressed a giggle, amazed at the way Spock was looking down at him, like a thirsty man admiring a cool glass of water. “I see…” he said finally. “And where do you suppose the best… playing field, for this… this game would be?” he said, all fluttering eyelashes and rosy cheeks. 

“Your quarters,” Spock all but growled. “Naturally.”

“Well, please,” Jim muttered, the breath catching in his throat. “Lead the way, Mr. Spock.”

They had little trouble filling their remaining hours of free time that day, and Jim’s ego was fully restored by the time they fell asleep in one another’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr: [k/s blog](http://spirkian.tumblr.com/) | [personal blog](http://vgersix.tumblr.com/) | [email me](mailto:vgersixwrites@gmail.com)


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